


School Visit.

by RT Fice (RT_Fice)



Series: A Beetlejuice Valentine. [8]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sexual Humor, Sneaking Around, Teenage Horniness, school sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-04 08:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RT_Fice/pseuds/RT%20Fice
Summary: After following the Maitland's advice to give their new sexual relationship a 2-week rest, Beetlejuice and Lydia are going insane.  Lydia's restless horniness in class is interrupted when a school principal from New York visits Miss Shannon's for a tour.  But her nemesis, Claire Brewster and Miss Blithe, are making it impossible for the girl and her poltergeist to find some alone time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to "Homework." It's third in the series sequence of "Falling In Loathe" and "Homework," and mentions events from both. If you haven't already, you might want tor read those first to fully understand this story.

Her horniness was driving her insane.

Lydia impatiently shifted in her chair. Miss Blithe's voice was white noise compared to the urgent ache in the teenager's vagina.

That urgency had heightened since she and Beetlejuice had half-hardheartedly followed Barbara and Adam's advice to take a “cooling” break and separate for a while.

The ghost couple hadn't reacted well when Lydia, with her defensively glowering lover beside her, visited Maitland Hardware's backyard a month ago. Calmly, the girl announced that she loved and appreciated the Maitland's adoption of her as their god daughter, but, like it or not, she and Beetlejuice were more than best buds now. At this point Beetlejuice's arm circled Lydia's waist and held her, tight, to emphasize this new reality.

Both the Maitalnds exploded with how wrong it was, how Lydia had only _just_ turned seventeen, and accusations that Beetlejuice had been “grooming” her all along. Beej knew better than to open his mouth and interrupt Lydia while she, using her impressive debating skills, had defended her choices and Beetlejuice.

It was midnight before Barbara calmed down. She sat on the bottom back porch step and sighed with resignation.

During this first month as lovers, the ghost and the girl had been ravenous. Lydia was still too nervous to attempt intercourse, and Beetlejuice was understanding. Their mutual masturbation, however, was epic and daily. He hadn't entered her, not even with tongue or fingers, because she declared, “When you're inside me the first time, I want it to be your _cock_.” They agreed to not even touch each other, for now. The restraint made it all the more delicious; for Beetlejuice in particular this was a novelty. They'd done it everywhere: Lydia stripping in the living room with the curtains wide open while Beetlejuice sat in her dad's chair, pumping cum onto the rug; Lydia luxuriantly massaging her clit in her bathtub full of hot, scented water, while the ghost sat on the closed toilet lid, facing her, rubbing his balls and cockhead, illuminated by candles. His cum was pearlescent in the candle light as it shot out.

Their favorite was Mirror Sex. They'd discovered it out of necessity, when Lydia arrived home after school to discover her date with her lover had to be canceled, due to a suddenly announced family outing. Having only half an hour to shower and change before leaving, Lydia, still in her school uniform, propped herself up on two pillows and spread her legs wide to face her dresser's mirror. Beetlejuice, on his coffin bed, was completely naked, his hardon and reddening balls toward Lydia in the mirror on his bureau. Lydia pulled down her panties so they dangled from her shoe while she slid her forefinger in and out, watching Beetlejuice stroking in rhythm. He aimed his cock at the mirror and came on it, which drove Lydia to her own orgasm.

 _That_ , Lydia thought, now, as she absently doodled in her notebook while Miss Blithe babbled, _that's when I knew I was ready for him._

It was also at this time that Adam and Barbara invited the “couple” – they'd refused to use that term, until Lydia argued that it was indeed what she and her poltergeist were – to a get-together in the back yard.

As warm as the Maitlands were trying to be, when they said they'd be happy to “invite” the poltergeist into their haunting space, temporarily, Lydia didn't trust them. The moment he crossed that boundary they could say his name three times. Of course, all Lydia had to do was call him back, but still, that would break her friendship with them. She didn't want that.

So Lydia went inside the hardware store to help Barbra with the agreed-upon non-alcoholic drinks, and Adam sat on the porch chair and talked with Beetlejuice as he floated in mid-air outside their haunting perimeter.

Lydia didn't learn till later what Adam said to Beetlejuice, the same time when she told him what Barbara said. Both of them had suspected another attempt to end the relationship. What _was_ said surprised them.

“Just a _short_ break, just two weeks.” Barbara had poured Cokes for the girl and her ghost, and Vernor's Ginger Ale for she and Adam. “We can't help but notice that you've both been _very_ intense, well, since you became a..,” she added, reluctantly, “couple. Can you take some advice from _another_ couple, who've been together for a long time? You both might benefit from a little vacation away from each other, to....allow things to settle.”

“I don't want them to settle.” Lydia was resolute.

“Honey, you're in a whirlwind right now.”

“And I love it.”

“Do your grades love it?”

 _Ugh._ Disgruntled, Lydia recalled that, earlier in the week, she'd confessed to Barbara that, for the first time in her high-achieving school life, her grades had slipped from steady As to a B or two. There was even a C in Phys Ed, her most hated subject. The only Physical Education she'd hungrily studied for four weeks was the thickness of Beetlejuice's cock and that magnificent, frightening, head on it.

She'd showed her parents her grades later.

Charles had stared at her C as if it were a report that his daughter had leprosy. “You're spending a lot of time alone. Is there something you need to tell us, pumpkin?”

 _Alone?  HA!  Should I tell you that “Mr. Beetleman” and I are jerking off together every day, all over this house and half the Neitherworld?_ “No, Father. I'm just...”

“A teenager.” Delia clicked her tongue and tossed the report card into the fireplace. “ _God_ , don't I remember eleventh grade. I wanted to slit my throat every morning. It's just a _C_ , Charles.” She gazed wearily at Lydia. “Well, as those idiot school counselors say, 'Do better.'”

At the end of the admittedly pleasant evening with the Maitlands, Beetlejuice and Lydia grudgingly conceded that some time apart would cure Lydia's academic distraction and Beetlejuice's priapic soreness. He would take two weeks in the Neitherworld, doing whatever, and she would bear down on her schoolwork.

If she were honest with herself, Lydia knew the break was good for her. She was studious in school, and reconnected with her parents, Prudence and Bertha, and Percy. But, afraid she'd contracted “something” at school that had caused her three-week "anti-social mood," her parents arranged for her to see her doctor.

Lydia trusted Dr. Coleman's advice and discretion absolutely. So it wasn't with much hesitation that the girl confessed that the reason for her changed behavior had nothing to do with illness.

“Unless it's mental illness.” Lydia smiled self-consciously. “I mean, judging by what I said about, you know, my horniness, am I.... Am I addicted?”

Lydia appreciated the woman's complete lack of shock. “Does your horniness prevent you from doing other things in your life, such as socializing and going to school?”

“No, but... I haven't been spending as much time with my friends and parents, even my cat. And,” she winced, “I got a C in Phys Ed.”

“A C in Phys Ed. Dear lord. And here I thought my D minus in it was bad.”

Another thing Lydia liked about her doctor was her dry sarcasm, which reminded her of her lover's.

“Do you eat regularly?”

“Yes. I love eating, actually.”

“Good thing you have the metabolism of a nuclear reactor. Do you want to have sex with every man you see?”

“Ugh, no. Just...him.” Lydia knew better than to mention Beetlejuice's age. The age of consent in Connecticut was 16, but, as much as she did trust Dr. Coleman, Lydia knew there were laws in some states that required physicians to report if they suspected child abuse. Lydia couldn't be certain whether her doctor considered a just-turned-seventeen-year-old girl with a thirty-seven-year-old man to be “underage.” She wasn't about to risk it.

“Does this boy pressure you?”

“No, not at all. He's been very patient and understanding. He goes out of his way to please me.”

Dr. Coleman gazed at her. “And does he?”

Lydia laughed, knowing her face had reddened. She nodded.

Dr. Coleman shook her head. “You are one lucky young lady. No intercourse?”

“Not yet. I'm...waiting for when I'm completely... When it's not such a scary concept.” For a moment she considered describing Beetlejuice's endowments to the doctor and asking is they were harmful. But she decided that might lead to questions about what age this “boy” really was, so she abandoned the thought. Curiosity made her want to ask Beej at what age he reached full size. She knew he wasn't enhancing himself magically. If anything, he'd offered to make himself smaller and less intimidating.

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Lydia hissed.

He'd smirked and responded, “Yes ma'am!”

“ _Very_ lucky,” the doctor repeated. ““Lydia, don't worry. The level of sexual response among women ranges from being asexual to well past where you are. You're a healthy seventeen year old with a healthy appetite. And if all you're getting from it is lots of pleasure, then brava you.” Dr. Coleman clicked her pen closed and stuck it in her pocket. “There are women so conservative and out of touch with their bodies they've _never_ had an orgasm.” She shook her head. “Poor bitches.” Alarmed, she looked at Lydia.

They both laughed.

“Still, because you can get caught in the moment, I want to set you up with some contraception, just in case.”

Accepting condoms and spermicide was as far in the ruse as Lydia would go. She refused birth control pills, knowing they'd never be needed, and after being told they might dampen her sexual desire.

Lydia didn't want to be _less_ horny. She just wanted the courage to satisfy it in the way she'd been fantasizing about.

 _So now here I am, all set to fulfill my fantasy completely_ , Lydia grumped, moving again in her classroom chair, doodling in her notebook, _and we've still got two days apart._ She whispered, _“_ Oh god, Beetlejuice, I can't stand it!”

_* * * * *_

_I'm goin' insane._

Sure, the first week back in the Neitherworld had been kind of fun. Jacques, Ginger, the Monster Across the Street, and even Poopsie were afraid Beetlejuice had broken up with Lydia, and that was the reason he was on a destructive rampage of pranking. When he'd made a thorough wreckage of his own neighborhood, dissatisfaction coated the poltergeist. Needing to keep his thoughts away from ending the separation prematurely by returning to the Living world, throwing Lydia over his shoulder, and finding the nearest comfortable surface to masturbate together on, he moved on to the big city just down the road.  There had to be plenty of ways to occupy himself there.

When he arrived in New Yuck, Beetlejuice, out of habit rather than by design, floated through his old haunting grounds in the darker corners of Brooklean.

The edginess and rawness held not much appeal anymore. It _was_ good to immerse himself in the exact opposite of composed, sedate Peaceful Pines. Even still, it was difficult to be truly shocking in the Neitherworld. Everyone here knew there was no Hell or Eternal Punishment, that “sins” didn't exist. With the crust of shame pried free, the people and creatures in the Afterlife did what they pleased, openly and without shame, and without fear of disease, illness, or death. There were laws, certainly, most the same as they were in the Living world. But most had nothing to do with sex or drugs. You couldn't become addicted after you were dead. If you already were when you died, you faced an eternity of being loopy, but drugs and all things “sinful” in Life were acceptable here, and extremely cheap because they weren't illegal. One could feed a pre-death addiction without having to steal or kill to get it, if you could hold even the most menial job.

Prostitution was perfectly fine, for those who preferred to earn money doing it. There was a demand, because, even in death, a lot of people couldn't get laid, for any number of reasons. So the line of brothels Beetlejuice passed openly competed. The one he used, long before Lydia ever moved to Peaceful Pines, and for free, because he knew how to please even the most jaded professional, was the most popular.

“Willya look at that,” said a Dante's Inferno girl as they all leaned off the balcony and out of the windows to stare in amazement while the poltergeist disappeared down the street. “Not so much as a glance.”

“Talk about pussy-whipped.” Another girl shook her head in astonishment. “Who'd have thought _he_ could ever get it, and get it so bad.”

“Hear she's a teenage _living girl_ ,” whispered another.

The others gasped at their coworker, who nodded in affirmation that she spoke the absolute truth. There were laws in the Afterlife, and Beetlejuice broke them, regularly. _That_ one was the most serious to breach.

“I knew he had balls, but _whoa_.”

“I hope that little girl can handle him.”

The girls glanced at each other, laughed, and sang the old Burger King song, because they had all died in a car crash in the '70s so they remembered it:

“It takes two hands  
To handle a Whopper!”

The poltergeist was vaguely aware of the girls' laughter, but not what it was about. He had no idea why he was even in that neighborhood.

And then he did. He halted and set his feet on the ground.

 _I'm sayin' goodbye t' my old life. I mean, death._ He blinked. _Naw, I mean life, too._ A grin slowly spread. No more brothels. No more dives. No more trying anything and everything to quell the persistent boredom of eternity. Lydia's influence had led him to self-reflection, when he realized, long ago, that he never, ever wanted to hurt her. _Him_ , whose entire purpose as a poltergeist was to feed on fear from the living. _Him_ , so powerful that he could level Peaceful Pines if he wanted to before the Afterlife bureaucracy could stop him. From the moment when they'd bonded during that first Halloween, Beetlejuice wouldn't tolerate anything threatening Lydia. He didn't dare to think it, but being with her, sex or no sex....made him _happy_.

“I see that.” That afternoon at the Maitlands, while Barbara and Lydia were inside, Adam had spoken in a lowered voice. “Barbara is blind to it. You know why.”

Having grabbed and spontaneously kissed the woman when the Maitlands had called him the first time, Beetlejuice had made a very bad first impression and earned Barbara's intractable loathing. He'd never told Lydia, as he hadn't mentioned any of his sexual attempts and encounters before he met her.  He wondered if Barbara had.

Adam glanced behind him to be sure only the poltergeist could hear him. “You've always had Lydia's best interest at heart, no matter what.”

Beetlejuice had been stunned, for once unable to speak.

“But do remember, she's young. You're...a lot. You're overwhelming her somewhat.”

“Goes two ways,” Beetlejuice muttered, uncomfortably. “I'm.... Not used t'....”

“Right, right. I know. Two weeks apart is a good idea. You need to give each other time to absorb the changes in your relationship.” He shrugged. “And to give Lydia's friends who know about it time to adapt. Honestly, I'm never going to like this. I mean, my god, man, you're thirty-seven, you've been dead for decades and decades, and from what I hear you've been around the block so much you could have a brass plaque there.”

“I'm not that anymore. Ya gotta believe me, since...since summer when I first fell for her _that way,_ other women don't even exist fer me.”

“I've heard that, on the Neitherworld grapevine. So your last few weeks with Lydia have been especially, uh, intense. Stop and take a breath, both of you.”

It was Beetlejuice, when Lydia and Barbara came outside with the tray of drinks, who brought up the subject. Lydia wasn't surprised; he was an adult, after all, and though more irresponsible than anyone else Lydia had ever known, he was an expert on human nature, as a con man has to be. _She'd_ never have mentioned it; being a teenager, she clung to denial about a lot of things.

They agreed to part for two weeks, beginning Monday.

Now, the Friday of the second week, Beetlejuice couldn't think straight.

He floated down Filth Avenue, among the loud, busy mass of shoppers and tourists, trying to distract himself from his ache. Masturbation could only do so much. He wanted, _needed_ , to see her, smell her, hear her laugh, her moans, her cry as she came and cum coated her index finger.

“Shit.” He floated face-first into a telephone pole.

That's when he heard it. Through the fog of noise, people, traffic. He heard a whisper he'd tuned his sharp ears to catch, hoping it'd happen.

Her whisper.

“Oh god, Beetlejuice, I can't stand it!”

“ **That's it**.” Immediately, he vanished and reappeared outside the Door.

* * * * * * *

“Miss Deetz.”

Annoyed, Lydia realized that, lost in the fantasy of what Beetlejuice's cock inside her would feel like, she'd scribbled several big-knobbed erections with big, round balls on her notebook page. She shut the pad quickly, crossed her forearms over it, and looked up at her teacher with as much innocence as she could fake.

“Yes, Miss Blithe?”

“You persist in wriggling, young lady. Have you ants in your,” the teacher seemed to check herself and substitute a better turn of phrase, “seating area?”

 _I know what I_ _ **do**_ _want there. You can't even_ _ **imagine.**_ “I'm sorry, Miss Blithe.”

“Apologies are insufficient. If you are to disturb the absorption of algebraic equations, then only an explanation will satisfy.”

From the day in Lydia's first week of school after moving to Peaceful Pines, when Beetlejuice, in the form of a rabid dog, had attacked the class' field trip in the cemetery, Miss Blithe bore a deep dislike toward the girl. Miss Blithe had attempted to blame her student for the terrifying experience, but instead incurred the wrath of the school's principal, Miss Shannon, for accusing a 12-year-old. Having not gotten away with it, the teacher seemed set on finding broken rules and misbehavior with which she could rightly charge Lydia. Under that scrutiny, Lydia had scrupulously good behavior at school. Thankfully, now Lydia only had one class a day with the teacher: Algebra, her second most loathed subject.

“I see your _tongue_ remains still.” Miss Blithe rapped her pointer stick in her palm as she walked to the front of Lydia's aisle. “I and your peers in education await your full and entire response. _Why_ are you writhing in your chair?”

“ _Writhing_.” As if it were a dirty word, Claire chuckled. Obediently, so did half the classroom.

Scrunching her face in anger, Lydia said, as calmly as she could manage, “I have cramps, Miss Blithe.”

Miss Blithe paled.

Her frustration egging her on, Lydia lied elaborately. “Bad cramps. Cramps so hard they could crack walnuts. In case that isn't explanation enough, I'm on my period.”

“That is quite enough,” said Miss Blithe, her nostrils tightening and upper lip curling as if something stank.

“Oh, I'm sorry, but you said you _wanted_ a full and entire response. I'm _menstruating_.” To ice the cake, she said, “Would you like me to show you my sanitary napkin?”

That was too much. Miss Blithe's blue eyes turned bloodshot. “Miss Deetz! You will go to the office, imm---”

There was a brisk, hard knock on the door. It opened without invitation.

The teacher and class turned as one to stare at Miss Shannon and the man with her as they stepped into the room.

“This is Miss Blithe's Math class.” Miss Shannon hesitated. She squinted. “Miss Blithe. You're puce. Are you all right?”

“Quite.” The teacher cleared her throat and quickly ran her palm over her hair. “I wasn't aware we had scheduled a school visit.”

“Principal Scarabee happened to be traveling through town, and decided to visit the public high school, as well as our proud institution.” The school's principal addressed the students. “Class, this is Mr. Jus Scarabee. From...?”

“New York. The city.”

Lydia, totally thrown, went rigid and silent while the class greeted the man with inquisitive approval. His face wasn't anything that could be considered the American standard for handsomeness. But the rest of him made up for it. He was tall, taller than Miss Blithe. His wide shoulders tapered to a trim waist, all encased in a sharp black suit with tiny white pinstripes. His black leather shoes and smart, dark brown leather briefcase glistened. His magenta shirt looked to be the finest silk, as did his solid black tie. On his right pinkie a gold ring winked at the girls as the man lifted his hand in acknowledgement of their greeting. None of them seemed to notice that, past his pale, blond hair smoothed down from his high forehead to curl, tastefully, at his collar, past his alarmingly straight and impeccably white teeth, his skin had a bluish pallor, and his eyes were tinged yellow and surrounded by darker skin.

Those didn't deter from his over-all rich, fit, and sophisticated appearance.

His gaze anchored on Lydia. _Oh yeah. It's me, beautiful_ , Beetlejuice thought.  He didn't have a plan when he found out Lydia was in school.  That didn't matter.  He was The Ghost With the Most, con man extraordinaire.  He could improvise faster than the blink of an eye.

Lydia sucked in a breath so loud the girl across the aisle glanced at her. _Oh, my god. We'd agreed he should never come to school. But, oh my god, yes, he's here!_ She tried, with her eyes, to express her delight with his breaking their rule. _But_ , she thought, grimacing a little, _he looks so ugly!_

“Principal Scarabee would like to tour the school, with a student as his guide,” said Miss Shannon.

“Yes, quite.” His cultured and aloof voice was that of a Boston Brahmin and echoed the halls of Harvard. Lydia wanted to applaud. The twitch of the corner of his otherwise serious mouth hinted that he knew she did. With the tone of a judge, he said, “I think it better to see this establishment through the eyes of one of its students, rather than,” he looked Miss Blithe up and down as if she were a scullery maid in a Victorian drama, “an _employee_.”  _Yeah, I remember you, ya cowardly suck-up._

The teacher visibly shrunk two inches.

“Would any of you volunteer to be Principal Scarabee's guide?” asked Miss Shannon.

Lydia's hand shot up. So did everyone else's.

“Principal Shannon,” said Principal Scarabee, knowing what, if she was honest and fair, her answer would be, “is there any young lady who's noted for her good behavior and reliability?”

The woman's eyebrows lifted. “As it happens, there is. Miss Deetz.”

The class glared at Lydia. She didn't care. “I'd be honored to show him around, Miss Shannon.”

“You may speak directly to _me_.” The man's voice was firm and official. “Remember,” he paused and locked Lydia's eyes. “I'm the principal and you're the student. I give the instructions and you must do as I say.” _Get it, babes? I can't make it clearer; this lady's not an idiot._

Confusion stunned the girl for a moment. Then Lydia heard the echo in his words.

 _It's like our first time together. When I was the Researcher and he was the Test Subject, and I made the rules and he followed them_ . She struggled not to grin. _It's_ _**his** _ _turn, now._

“I understand, sir,” she replied, with meaning.

“Hm.” _That's my babes!_ “I believe this student will do fine, Miss Shannon.”

Claire muttered an obscenity.

“I fear she will not.” With barely concealed rancor, Miss Blithe said, “Miss Deetz was only just telling the class that she is experiencing very strong _discomfort_.” Her expression of empathy fooled only Miss Shannon. “I was about to send her home.” Her tight, pseudo sympathetic smile at Lydia radiated sincere, vindictive triumph.

Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow at Lydia, confused.

“I'm good now, Miss Shannon. It's passed.”

“Remarkable recovery, Miss Deetz,” said Miss Blithe. “So quick, and so _convenient_.”

Claire Brewster waved her arm, but didn't wait to be called on to speak. “Principal Scabs, I'm Claire Brewster, and, like, I'd _adore_ showing you around our wonderful school.  Miss Deetz _said_ she was, like, _so_ uncomfortable. We don't want you to be guided by, y'know, a girl who's experiencing,” she spoke with vicious emphasis, “ _monthly problems_.”  Directing her unnaturally white teeth at the disguised poltergeist, Claire emphasized, "She _did_ say her cramps are _so bad_ they could, y'know, crack some sorta nuts."

The class was too shocked to laugh.

Scarabee's head swiveled and pinned Claire with the intensity of his haughty glower. “Do you often speak out of turn, Miss Brewery?” _Ya insipid little bitch._

Someone in the back snickered, but stifled it immediately. Lydia looked down at her notebook so her hair would hide her grin.

Claire stammered wordlessly.

Principal Scarabee's face brightened with recognition. “Miss _Deetz?_ By any chance are you the daughter of Charles Deetz, the New York real estate genius?”

All the students and their teacher turned as one and focused on Lydia as if the principal had revealed she was royalty.

 _Quick thinking con man, as always!_ “Why yes, sir!”

The principal snapped his fingers. “As it happens I've met your father on several occasions. Charming man. And your step-mother, Delia, isn't it? The artist.” He placed a hand on his chest and smiled ingratiatingly at Miss Shannon. “I can't think of a better guide than this delightful girl.”

Miss Blithe, not to be defeated, said, “Miss _Brewster_ has been voted Class President three years running. She's _very_ popular.”

“I'm from Miami.” Claire shone as if she'd ingested sunshine in the womb. “The state that excels in hospitality!”

“Yet, you've lived _here_ for how long?” asked Principal Scarabee. “Ah. Yes. I imagine your original family home is underwater by now.”

Miss Shannon looked impatient. “Miss Deetz _and_ Miss Brewster will give Principal Scarabee the tour. Along with myself.”

Principal Scarabee twitched. “Yourself?”

“Well, certainly as a high school principal you know we'd never allow students to be unchaperoned in the company of an adult who does not work here. Beside, these young ladies can't fill you in on the administrative workings of Miss Shannon's.”

“Of course,” he said, glumly.

 _Damn._ Lydia tried to think of something to say, but her principal waved for she, and Claire, to accompany her. Claire bounced to her feet like a well-bred dog who had won a blue ribbon.

“Principal Scarabee” and Lydia Deetz let out simultaneous, miserable sighs and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

 “And, like, here's the gym with the brand new totally expensive wood floor.” Claire stood in the center of the room, her hands on her hips, as if awaiting their applause. “Did I mention, like, my _Daddy_ paid for this?”

"Only half a dozen times.” Principal Scarabee kept his tone level, masking his rising poltergeist instinct to scare the brat into hysterical incontinence.

"Your father was one of _several_ donors, Miss Brewster, thank you very much,” said Miss Shannon. “Move us along, please.”

Claire happily paraded, glancing up at the visiting man and actually batting her eyes at him, completely unaware that he was, as he smiled with dull geniality in return, imagining all manner of horrible things happening to her.

 _This is agony._ Lydia, beside Miss Shannon as they followed the other two, longingly surveyed Beetlejuice's ass. It was now too firm and small for her taste, but it was still _his_. She understood why he couldn't grant her so much as an affectionate smile; this setting was far too dangerous. Miss Shannon's School For Girls was extremely protective of its students, knowing that, since they were all girls 18 and younger, the school could be the target of predators.  All males, of any age, were viewed warily, and monitored during every second they were on school grounds.   When school shootings became the new normal, the school board installed security cameras everywhere, and hired a female ex-police officer as a security guard.   Lydia could imagine what scrutiny Beetlejuice went through to be allowed into the building. He must have come up with some stunning false credentials to impress Miss Shannon.  So stunning that she, herself, was guiding his tour. His craftiness in coming to see her made Lydia want him all the more.

Claire was too focused on waiting for Miss Shannon to unlock the gymnasium's equipment room to notice Beetlejuice cross his right arm behind his back and gesture a forefinger to Lydia behind him.

Seemingly nonchalant, Lydia moved closer, as if she were also watching her principal and wanted a better look. She quickly slipped her hand into his open one. He squeezed it vehemently.

Just as the door opened Lydia pulled her hand free, stabbed it between his thighs, and firmly goosed his balls. which, due to their size, and his not wearing underwear (Lydia had certainly noticed) were easy to reach.

"ACK!" squawked Beetlejuice, with a little jump.

Miss Shannon and Claire looked as startled as he did. “Principal?” the woman asked.

“I do beg your pardon.” Principal Scarabee covered his mouth with his hand. “A tad of acid reflux, I do confess. It's been a while since breakfast, and,” his eyes clicked over to Lydia's insincerely innocent half-gaze long enough to convey his meaning, “I have an unnaturally _huge appetite_ today. I could _eat_ for hours.” The tiniest tip of his tongue protruded from his lips and circumscribed them.

Lydia's clitoris throbbed. He hadn't licked her there, yet. _Today._ The girl's breathing caught. _It's going to happen today._

Since poltergeists have a sense of smell far superior to a bloodhound's, equipped to detect the most microscopic fear, Beetlejuice certainly smelled Lydia's arousal signaling to him how she was _oh_ so ready. As the group entered the room, his mind desperately tried to build a plot for getting her alone, here, home, behind a tree, _anywhere_.

The square, windowless room was lined with shelves and bins full of balls of all sorts, bats, folded nets, tennis rackets, lacrosse sticks, helmets, shin guards, and any number of sports-related items. Folded gymnastic tumbling mats were piled waist high in a corner, next to shelves of swim caps and towels.  An open door revealed a small laundry room.

"And this, like, equipment stuff, is all donated by Daddy, too.” Claire simpered at Beetlejuice and gestured to sets of golf clubs. “I'm the, y'know, Junior Division Champion of the Connecticut Women's Golf something or other, so Daddy's a _huge_ supporter of athletics.”

Lydia tamped down a smirk. “So, you're father's a huge athletic supporter?”

“ _Yeah_ , that's, like, what I _said_.”

Beetlejuice veiled his snicker by clearing his throat.

"Thank you, Miss Brewster.” Miss Shannon indicated the open door. “Let's now proceed to a part of the school that has nothing to do with your father.”

A long, wide main corridor ran along the front of the school's first floor, bright with sunshine from the tall windows along it. The opposite wall was covered with framed photographs of the school's history and glass cases of various academic and athletic awards garnered over the decades.

The bell rang. As students flooded the hall, Beetlejuice used it as an excuse to fall behind Claire and Miss Shannon.

The ghost's enormous ego would _never_ admit it, but he'd worried their separation might have given Lydia the peace and quiet necessary to mull over Barbara and Adam's arguments against their relationship, and lean her to their way of thinking. As much as he'd never believe any woman would reject him after having a hot injection of 'Juice, he knew Lydia was no simple sexual playmate who'd be interested in him just for orgasms. If she cooled toward him sexually, would she still want to be best friends? Or a friend at all? He'd feared _that_ possibility the most. It'd be difficult, but he could bring himself to going back to the ways things were. But the idea of her leaving him completely was intolerable.  He'd never lost anything he cared about, because, until Lydia, he'd never cared for anything or anyone; his life and Afterlife were unadulterated selfishness.  Now, the ghost swallowed in relief, because every signal she sent proved his worries unfounded.

“Miss Deetz,” the false principal scanned the area as he spoke causally, “how are your parents?”

“Home,” Lydia informed him, grimly.

“Ah.” _Shit_. “Are they keeping themselves busy?”

“Oh yes, sir. Mother's hammering things together for a new art installation. Father's in front of three laptops, charting the stock exchange and New York city real estate, due to predictions there'll be a recession next year.”

“So...” Hopeful, Scarabee lowered his voice so it reached only her over the clamor of passing students and teachers. “They wouldn't notice if you popped home early?”

Lydia groaned. “Oh, they'd notice. They're still worried that my Goth ways have turned me into a depressed hermit, so they'd be _very_ nosy.” To drive home the point, she added, “As in wouldn't-let-me-out-of-their-sight nosy, meaning no trip you-know-where.”

Before Beetlejuice could mutter a profanity of frustration, Miss Shannon turned and called above the echoing turbulence of students.  “Principal Scarabee, you mentioned being hungry. Would you like to have lunch at our school?”

 _Shit. Think 'Juice, think_. “If time allows, perhaps, Principal Shannon.”

Lydia said, conversationally, " _I'm_ certainly hungry.  I hope they're having my favorite for lunch today."

Principal Scarabee raised an eyebrow.  _Where's she going with this?_ "And what's your favorite, Miss Deetz?"

The girl checked to see if her classmate and her principal were paying attention. Both appeared to be indifferent to the conversation.  Claire, receiving no adoration from the visitor, now ignored him.

Lydia continued with a chatty air, "A big kielbasa.  I like the ones that aren't _too_ long, but are really _thick_ around.  So big I can hardly close my hand around it."

Beetlejuice stumbled.

"Eew, _gross_."  Claire stuck out her tongue.

"I love it when it's so hot that _juice_ dribbles _out the end_.  I run my tongue up it and _lick it all up_."

"Aw, god," was Beetlejuice's strangled gasp.

Miss Shannon peered over her shoulder.  "Are you all right, Principal?"

"Wonderful," he wheezed.

Claire threw a confused, contemptuous glare behind at her.  "You are, like, _disturbed_ , Lydia Deetz.  The school doesn't, y'know, even _serve_ kielbasa."  She picked up her pace, as if wanting to put as much distance between her and her classmate as possible.

Lydia's voice was a dulcet murmur. "Today, I want every inch _inside me_."

Beetlejuice halted.  As Lydia walked ahead of him he breathed, “ _Inside?_ ”

Lydia turned and walked backward, gazing through her thick lashes, which she knew drove Beetlejuice wild.  She smiled and whispered with only enough volume to be understood by him over the students hurrying to their next classes.  “ _Every. Inch. Inside. Me_.”  She turned round again with a gentle, teasing swish of her skirt.

Miss Shannon and Claire heard the principal emit a strange whine. Just before they looked behind them the man slapped his briefcase in front of his crotch and grinned widely and stupidly. “Please, continue!” he told Miss Shannon in a strained voice. “It's enthralling!”

As students drained from the hall,  Miss Shannon moved on, and yawning Claire with her.  Lydia decelerated until she was just a step ahead of Beetlejuice.

Miss Shannon's monologue praising the school's academic achievements continued unabated as she and Claire passed through open double-doors and around the corner to another hallway.

“Nice briefcase, sir," Lydia purred, knowingly.  "Is it to hide your briefs?”

“Hm, amusing, Miss Deetz. Do you know what it's full of?”

“I'd like to, sir.”

The false principal leaned down.  His cold breath caressed her ear with an undercurrent rumble. “It's full of _how much I want_ _ **to fuck you**_ _.”_

Lydia's squeak was barely heard over the second bell.

There was an old, white ceramic drinking fountain in the hallway corner.  Lydia skipped well ahead of Beetlejuice.  She stopped at the fountain and greeted a teacher who was closing her door to begin a new hour of English. The halls were clear, with the exception of the principal and her schoolmate ten yards before them.  Lydia was certain the ghost had a clear view.

 _I can't believe I'm going to do this, and do it here.  If anybody else sees, how can I explain it?  But oh, god, I want him.  I want him_ _**now**_ _._   Lydia had never been a flirt, she hadn't the slightest idea _how_ to flirt.  Improvising, she exaggerated what she'd seen Claire do at the Mondo Mall when males focused on her.  _Then_ Lydia had thought Claire's behavior and the males' goggling attention were gross.  Now, experimenting,  Lydia pressed down the fountain's silver button with her right forefinger and bent low from the waist to sip, raising her rear to prominence in a bright shaft of warm sunshine.

 _Jeezus fuck, she's_ _ **flirting**_ _with me_.  Astonished and captivated, Beetlejuice watched his girl's full, reddened lips part.  Her tongue tickled the stream of water.  His balls tightened, remembering what her tongue had done to them when he played her "test subject."

Lydia's left hand reached down to her school uniform's short skirt and flipped it up.

In the sunshine her thighs and her lovely ass in white panties flashed brightly.  It had an immediate effect on Beetlejuice's cock. The rigidity was beyond concealing now. The briefcase was its only shield.

“Miss _Deetz_ ,” he barked.

Lydia turned, her hands behind her, her eyes wide. “Yes, Principal Scarabee?”

"You did that on _purpose_ , didn't you?"

His deep, scolding tone made Lydia's belly palpitate, thrilled with his game.  She sensuously blinked her long lashes, and forced herself not to grin when the man's knees trembled.  "I don't know what you mean, sir."

 _Oh gawd, babes, yer killin' me all over again here!_   Swallowing with difficulty, he maintained his role.  "Be honest!”

Lydia shamefacedly frowned and looked down at her shoe as she circled its toe on the wooden floor.  “I didn't mean to, Principal, sir.  It was an accident."

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Lydia was thoroughly enjoying this.  Judging from the madness rimming his otherwise cool stare, Beetlejuice was as well.  "I hope you didn't _see_ anything."

"I'm horrified to say I did."  _If I don't control myself I'm fucking you right here in the middle of the hall while everyone watches._ "Did I actually see that you're... _damp_ down there?"

She blushed, really blushed.  Beetlejuice was impressed, but Lydia knew it wasn't play-acting, it was her being in heat stronger than she'd ever been before.  _He doesn't even have to enter me, if his cock_ _ **touche**_ _s me it'll be over!_ Wanting him as crazed as she was, she mumbled, "It's so peculiar.  Ever since your visit began, it's...gotten very wet.  I'm afraid it's about to," she said this softly, clearly enunciating each word, "trickle down my thighs."

Beetlejuice stuffed the sexual expletives down his throat so hard he choked.  He stepped toward her until he loomed above her. “You're being an extremely bad girl. If you keep this up, I may have to give you a tongue-lashing.”

Her clitoris stiffened against her snug panties. “I'll try to restrain myself."  A new idea toyed with her imagination.  Feigning obliviousness to her double-meaning, she said in a caressing voice, "But if I can't, I may _have_ to be.”

The disguised poltergeist blinked.  In the throes of their mutual masturbation they'd often tossed out possible scenarios, but they'd never acted on them.  _Does she mean...?_   "You're being obscure, young lady.  Clarify!"

"I might not _want_ to obey you and keep my hands to myself."  With a gaze full of import, Lydia stroked the length of her school tie and idly, suggestively, wrapped it around her finger.

Principal Scarabee's cock exerted against his trousers, at the brink of separating the zipper's teeth.  "It might not be _safe_ to continue to _goad_ me, little miss, unless you _wish_ to feel a _rod of iron_ used on you."

In another exaggeration of Claire's already stereotypical gestures, Lydia crinkled her nose at him and snorted a small, contemptuous _humph_. "Maybe I don't _want_ to be safe, either."

Of course, they both understood that Lydia had the final say, and the ultimate "safe" word.  If the poltergeist crossed a line in which the girl felt truly threatened, all she had to do was say his name three times.  The only times she'd done that was when, as an impulsive little kid, she'd sent him back to the Neitherworld during one or two extremely heated arguments; she'd repeatedly apologized afterward.  But she had never, ever, been given reason to fear he'd control her in any way against her will.

Knowing this gave Lydia the freedom to play.

The first time Beetlejuice had ever treated sex as play was when Lydia, fantastic genius girl, had improvised the Researcher and Test Subject game that initiated them from best buds to lovers.  All the other girls and women he'd had were fucks, who he got as hot and ready as fast as he could so he could shove it in as fast as he could.  There was no time, or desire, for games.  He'd never have imagined he'd ever have the patience for it.

But oh, _god,_ this was making the pain of having to wait so goddamn sweet for him.  Judging by her scent and eyes, it was for her, too.

A panting grin spread on the girl's flushed face as she watched greenish saliva creep from the corners of Principal Scarabee's wide, tightly compressed smile.  Lydia had feared he'd consider role-playing childish and silly, that he'd want to just fuck and be done with it.  She knew she'd enjoy that, but this was something more thrilling, especially since there was the possibility of being caught.  She shivered with the realization that he was enjoying this as much as she was.

“Principal Scarabee!” Far down the hall, Miss Shannon sounded testy. “Please do _keep up_.”

"Keeping it up is hardly a problem," he growled to Lydia, slowly wiping the drool from his mouth with the corner of a handkerchief embroidered with his false initials.  He pressed that same corner, wet and green, on her lips.  He whispered in his Principal voice as he wiped his saliva on her mouth, "These lips aren't as red and swollen as your cunt's lips are going to be."

" _Ah,_ " was Lydia's tiny, breathless gasp.

"Come _on._ We're, like, on a _tour_ ," Claire yelled, curtly.

After a gulp of air, Lydia spryly turned and called to her principal, “It's my fault, Miss Shannon! I was showing him the spelling award medals!”

While they walked, Beetlejuice gutturally muttered to the girl in his Principal voice, “We've got to find a way to ditch them.”

“I _know._ Do you have any ideas? I'm fresh out.”

“Giving Claire explosive diarrhea would be fun.”

“No, you can't do anything that might seem suspicious. If that happened Miss Shannon would send you away to save you and the school embarrassment, and she'd check everyone in the school to make sure it wasn't contagious. It has to be something that seems normal.”

“ _Shit_. Well, _you_ better think of something, because normal's not my area of expertise.  Do you want to wait?"

"Wait?"

"Until we can get to my place?  Or your place when your parents are gone?"

" _No._   I do _not_ want to wait.  I _can't_.  _As soon as possible_."

The fake principal chuckled deep in his chest.  "I am not going to argue with that, Miss Deetz."

“I'm sorry, but _ugh_ , that Harvard-Boston Brahmin voice and new look. Your beer belly and your butt are gone!” Lydia grimaced. “You're hideous.”

“Yeah, I know. But you don't think they'd let _Mr. Beetleman_ through the front door, do you?”

As he said _door_ Lydia read the sign on the schoolroom Miss Shannon was standing next to. _Science & Biology_. Lydia looked at Claire and had a memory from seventh grade. “Follow my lead,” she whispered to the ghost.

“If I may, Principal Shannon,” said Lydia as she reached her, “I'd like to show Principal Scarabee one of my favorite classrooms.”  She indicated the Science room.

With tone of relief, Miss Shannon said, “By all means.”

Miss Shannon apologized to Mrs. Washington and her Chemistry class for the interruption and introduced the visiting principal.

"As you can see," Lydia was very official as she gestured to various elements in the room, "we have wonderful equipment and work areas for studying all the sciences.  My favorite thing about this room," she added as she moved to a side table that had several glass aquariums, "is all our live animals."

Claire stood between the two principals, examining her manicure.

"We have a glass apiary, with pipes so the bees can come and go outside and pollinate Peaceful Pines."  Lydia built slowly, so her end goal wouldn't be obvious.  She glanced at Beetlejuice, as if only politely maintaining attention to the visitor, but hoping he'd remember.  "This is Templeton, a Fancy rat, and next to him is Draco, a Bearded Dragon. And of course, Hairy the tarantula."

Though he always said time in the Afterlife blurred, Beetlejuice's eyes widened with recollection.  Lydia had been twelve, in seventh grade.  A theatrical director named Kane, who had abandoned Broadway after a string of flops, enigmatically washed ashore in Peaceful Pines.  He wanted to do _Romeo & Juliet _at Miss Shannon's  On that same day, Claire had made fun of Lydia's science presentation about how insects could be trained.  Infuriated, Beej had turned into a huge spider in Claire's hair and terrified her.  Being unobservant and stupid, like all unimaginative mortals, Claire didn't notice the spider had black-and-white stripes and spoke.  She assumed Lydia had dropped Hairy the tarantula on her, and vowed revenge.  But that incident entrenched arachnophobia to Claire's marrow.

Claire's breathing shuddered as Lydia popped open the aquarium's green plastic lid and gently lifted the spider as large as her palm.  Its forelegs tested the air.

Most of the class had never seen the spider outside of its cage.  They shrank down into their seats.

"Hairy's a female Brazilian black tarantula," said Lydia, as if incognizant of Claire's building panic attack.

"Oh my, that is remarkable."  Beetlejuice strolled to Lydia and admired the enormous insect the girl had repeatedly forbade him to eat. "What a delicious--" he caught himself "-- _striking_ jet black color."

The blonde girl's voice squeezed from her closing throat like dry toothpaste at the bottom of a tube.  "I thought it was _dead_ by now."

"Oh, no!" said Lydia.  "In captivity females of this species can live up to twenty years.  She's only ten years old."

"Heh."  The poltergeist grinned at Claire as her tan face paled to a sickly yellow.  "She might outlive _you_ , Miss Brewery."

"Are you unwell, Miss Brewster?"  asked Miss Shannon.

Lydia wrestled her smirk to the ground and held it there.  _For once in your spotlight-hogging life, Claire, I bet you wish a whole room of people_ _ **wasn't**_ _staring at you._

Beetlejuice carefully let the hairy thing sit on his flat palm, though Lydia was reluctant to let him take the spider from her.  "How fascinating!  _Look_ at those fangs.  An insect with fangs, I'd no idea. My goodness, but they've quite long and sharp."  He turned to Claire.  "Why don't _you_ hold her?"

Claire's face glistened with flop sweat.

"Oh, now,  Miss Brewery."  Scarabee's voice was syrupy.  Knowing the arrogant girl would never allow Lydia to be seen as better at something than she was, he gibed her, "Surely if Miss Deetz can hold Hairy, _you_ can."

To the riveted class Beetlejuice seemed to take Claire's right wrist lightly.  In truth, he gripped it firmly to stabilize its shaking.  Before she could refuse, his other hand dumped the spider into the girl's reluctantly open palm. Instantly, a claw-like nail sprang from his forefinger and jabbed her palm so hard it bled.

The students erupted from their seats as Claire screamed and flailed her arms as if being attacked by a swarm of wasps.  "IT BIT ME IT BIT ME!"

All horrified eyes were on Claire as, for the first time since Lydia knew her, she shed real tears.  No one saw Beetlejuice catch the tarantula in mid air and stuff it in his mouth.

"Dear lord!"  Miss Shannon rushed to the sobbing girl.  "Let me see, Miss Brewster!"

"I'm POISONED!"  Claire ran to the door and flung it open so hard the glass in its window cracked.  " _I need the school nurse and antidote!_ "

Claire pounded down the hall and around the corner.  Miss Shannon hurried out the door, followed by Lydia and Principal Scarabee.  She halted, stepping back and forth in place as if being yanked by two equally powerful forces.  "I must attend to her, but Principal, I do apologize, such a thing has never happened before, I don't want to abandon you--"

"It's perfectly all right!"  The false principal sounded as if he'd just finished chewing.  Lydia eyed him suspiciously as he swallowed.  "Of course you must see to the young lady!"

"Miss Brewster has a penchant for the dramatic, but I did see blood, and her parents are so litigious, though I doubt they'd follow through, still--"

"I can finish the tour, Miss Shannon," said Lydia.  "Then we can meet you in the office."

"The rules..."

"Tut tut," said Principal Scarabee.  "I'm in very capable hands.  If you're dubious about my intentions, remember, there are cameras _everywhere_.  I've no doubt Miss Deetz can look after herself, if needs be."

A flustered wave of Miss Shannon's hand granted assent, and she ran down the hall.

Principal Scarabee rose on his toes, frantically scanning up and down the halls.

"You ate her, didn't you?" snapped Lydia.

"The way those kids were panicking it was going to be stepped on anyway."

"Beet-- Principal Scarabee!  You _ate_ Hairy!"

His shining eyes fixed on hers.  "I'm going to eat something _else_ hairy, too."

"You _promised_ you wouldn't--"

"Look, she was ten years old and had a nice, happy life for an over-sized bug.  Besides, I haven't eaten for hours, and I need energy for what I'm going to do."

" _What_ do you need energy to do?"

"THIS."

In one swift motion he gripped Lydia's waist and with a grunt threw her over his right shoulder.

“OH!”  Landing on her diaphragm knocked the wind out of her.  The next moment she realized she was being propelled backward.  Looking down, she saw Principal Scarabee's legs were up, and he was floating with astonishing speed down the hall.

" _Cameras!_ " Lydia cried, pointing at one as they zoomed past.

"Coincidentally they're all broken right now, Miss Deetz."

"Won't the security guard notice that?"  Lydia knew there were two rows of screens in the security center, a newly refurbished janitor's closet a few doors down from the school's main office.

"Might, if security guard hadn't imbibed a bit too much of the brandy I brought as a gift," said Beetlejuice as he swiftly turned down a short corridor.

Students referred to Mrs. Tibbs, the guard, as "Tipple Tibbs," ever since Claire and her cronies had spotted her behind the bus garage more than once.   It was widely speculated that her sizeable silver hip flask and breath that shouldn't be allowed near an open flame were the reasons she was no longer employed by any police department.  Lydia had once mentioned this possibility to Beetlejuice.  _Wow, he remembered, and used it!_ she thought.

The speed of their flight blew the girl's skirt over her back.  Her white-pantied ass was right beside Beetlejuice's face. With his right arm securely around her thighs to keep her from falling, his left hand shot across and grabbed a handful of her buttock, massaging it.  It was the first time he'd touched her since their Researcher and Test Subject game a month ago, and the first time, ever, that he'd touched her ass.  Both of them inhaled sharply.

" _Miss Deetz._ "  The poltergeist was glad he didn't have to breathe, because the sight and scent of her buttocks and her oh so near vagina stole his breath. "You have been," he slapped her ass firmly, but not painfully, "ex," slap, "treme," slap, "ly, "slap, "BAD."  A firm squeeze.

Lydia squirmed, astonished by how good his playful spanking felt.  Staying in her role, she begged in an alarmed voice,  "Principal!  Where are you taking me?"

His voice was commanding.  "To my office."

They swerved into another short hall to the double doors of the gymnasium.  Through the doors' windows they glimpsed two teams of girls bouncing basketballs in a practice drill.  With a rapid swipe of Beetlejuice's left arm the handle to the door to the equipment room, which was just before the double doors, clicked and turned.  The door banged open and the ghost and the girl flew inside.

Beetlejuice turned and snapped his fingers.  The handle turned and the lock clicked.  With another gesture the air rippled, seeming to settle across the entire doorway like invisible Saran Wrap.  He grabbed Lydia's waist and set her feet on the floor.

Breathlessly, Lydia asked, in character as well as sincerely, "Principal Scarabee, what are you doing?"

When he turned to face her his perfect smile had taken on a despoiling quality, and his eyes, blase and half-lidded before, caught the girl's like a hook's barb setting in a fish's mouth.  His hand moved with menacing elegance as he indicated the door and the faint shimmer covering it.  "That door has been sound-proofed, young lady."  He cocked his right hand behind one of his pointy ears and paused.  The twangy bang of the basketball on wood, the yells of the girls, the hammer of their running feet, and the coach's shrill whistle were clear.  "We can hear them." His chuckle was carnivorous.  "But no matter how loud, how sharp, how urgent, no one can hear _us._ "

"Why have you locked us in?"  _He's being a little scary._   Lydia gulped.  _I_ _ **like**_ _it._

Principal Scarabee frowned sourly and flung his briefcase.  His ignoring the clattering avalanche of lacrosse sticks knocked to the floor by the case drove home that no one outside the room could hear what happened inside it.  Pointing accusingly at his bulging crotch, he caustically snarled,  "Look at this terrible swelling you've caused.  This is _your fault_ , young lady."

Lydia couldn't take her hungry stare from it.  She'd seen him erect many times, but somehow, being in the school, with the ghost looking like a stranger, the bulge seemed larger, even threatening.  With feigned shyness and anxiety, she said, "I hope you're not in discomfort."

"I am," he answered, sincerely.  "The pressure you've put me under today, it's beyond description.  Well."  His Boston Brahmin accent dropped to a ravenous baritone.  "Only _you_ can make it all better.  _And you will._ "

So abruptly that Lydia started, the disguised poltergeist waved his arm.  Two waist-high stacks of gym mats slid together, forming a surface the size of a queen-sized mattress.

Obeying another sweep, towels flew off the shelves.  Some covered the mats, while several folded and piled on the far end like a stack of pillows.

 _Oh god, it's going to happen!_   Lydia's shuddered, partly in impatience and partly because she was truly frightened whether this was something she could handle.  But she stuck to the role he'd assigned her as truly as he'd stuck to the one she'd given him.  Knowing how much the poltergeist savored even the smallest fear, and she herself finding it strangely enhancing to the horniness driving her,  Lydia allowed her nervousness to show.  "W-why are you doing that, Principal?"

Beetlejuice smelled the fear inside her want. _Shiiiiit, babes, you_ _ **know**_ _what I like._   Like a half-starved wolf scenting fresh meat, he advanced on the girl.  "So I can do _this_."

Abruptly clutching her waist he spun her around in place so that she faced the stacked mats.  Ferociously he ordered,   "Remove your jacket, little miss.  _Now_."

"But, I'm not supposed to be out of uniform when I'm at school!"

"Are you disobeying a visiting principal?  Would Miss Shannon allow you to do that?"

"No, sir."  Meekly, Lydia slowly slipped her jacket off her right shoulder.  Pausing for effect, and to savor his labored breathing, she asked, "Am I doing it right?"

Beetlejuice's throat tightened.  "Take that thing _off_."

The girl dropped her shoulders and let gravity pull the jacket to the floor.

"Now divest yourself of your shoes.  Leave your socks _on_."

Lydia delicately stepped from her shoes.  Her voice quavered with anticipation.  "But, _why_ do you want these off, Principal Scarabee?"

"They would get in the way," he kicked the jacket aside, "of your relieving my swelling.  _Bend down_ , Miss Deetz."

Not able to anticipate where he was taking this, Lydia's nervousness increased.  They'd both agreed that they weren't interested in anything anal. "Never have, never will," he'd declared with distaste. "I may be a slob, but I don't want shit anywhere _near_ my cock."  Lydia was equally vehement that that area was off limits.  "Oh no, what are you going to do?"

"You wanted to show me before, so I'm going to see _now_."

Swallowing with exaggerated reluctance, Lydia said, "May the student have one request?"

Principal Scarabee snorted derisively.  "I'll consider it."

Lydia spoke in her regular voice.  "Be yourself. _Please_."

In his own, sardonic, raspy, deep voice, Beetlejuice replied, "Thought ya'd never ask."

Principal Scarabee snapped his flawlessly manicured fingers.  Instantly they reverted to red-tipped, with fingernails that resembled claws.

Watching from over her shoulder, Lydia beamed as the ghost, once more in his signature clothes, vainly ran his hand down his gut.

Watching her watching him, Beetlejuice cupped his bulge and squeezed.  His yellow eyes flared as the girl seeped a tiny expletive and her ass twitched.  "Now I'm th' poltergeist an' you're th' haunted little girl who has to do as he says.  Naw, don't turn around!  You don't make any moves unless I say so."  With a swift jerk of his wrist he released the single button of his striped jacket, pulled off the garment, and threw it across the room.  As he quickly undid his tie and tossed it to the floor, he demanded, "You have any idea how powerful I am, little sweet?"

Though knowing full well, Lydia mocked, "Oh, you're not so powerful. All you can do is move mats and towels.  _Any_ man can d _o that_."

"Really, huh?"  He knew how much his power excited her.  He paused, listening.  The school was a murmur of normal activity.  The ghost raised his hand high and snapped his fingers.

Somewhere, something exploded.  Very loudly.  This was quickly followed by shrieks, doors slamming open, feet stampeding.

Lydia tried to stay in character, but she couldn't hold back an exhilarated grin.  She didn't care what had happened; she'd find out later.  All she knew was he was showing off to her, the equivalent of a mortal man flexing a bicep.

As, somewhere, sirens shrieked, Lydia arched her back slightly as her vagina magnetically sought to be closer to his erection.

Beetlejuice stalked up behind her, her tiny, insistent mew standing every hair on his body on end.  "That turns ya on, _doesn't it_? Knowin' th' most powerful creature around can't wait until," here, he stood with his gut almost touching her back, and rasped, " _he shoves his cock inside ya_." His voice was serpentine.  "Bend down, little girl."

Slowly, Lydia lowered her torso onto the gym mats, stretching her arms forward and raising her ass like a cat on heat.

Beetlejuice flipped her skirt over her back and grabbed her panty-covered buttocks.  Both the girl and the ghost produced utterances of impatient lust as he kneaded them.  "Perfect ass, _perfect goddamn as_ s."

"Take off my panties," Lydia begged.

"Ah ah ah, not until _I_ say so, little miss."  Beetlejuice's big hands cupped her hips and pushed his trouser bulge into the panty-protected cleft between her buttocks.  "Oh, _shit,_ yeah."  Rubbing up and down, he demanded, "Ya love this, doncha?  Love havin' yer pristine, official white Miss Shannon uniform panties rubbin' yer ass, and," he bent at the knees and pushed harder, so that his prominence stroked her vagina, "yer slit?"

The feeling of the soft cotton pressing her skin, the solidity of his bulge, made Lydia rise on her toes and widen her stance.

With his crotch firmly grinding her rear, Beetlejuice leaned forward and grasped her breasts, still covered by her bra and school shirt.  "Ya have _any_ idea how long I've waited t' do this?"

Lydia opened her thighs and pushed backwards against him.  " _Please_."

"Not like this."  His hips rutted against her panties so hard they were soaked from the girl's wetness.  Laying on her, his gut against her back, he yanked her shirt from her skirt.  "Ya know I've fucked a lot of women."

Lydia hesitated.  Somewhere along the line, she'd picked that up.  "Yes."

His left arm tightened around her waist and lifted her a few inches off the towel.  He rapidly unbuttoned her shirt.  His voice was steam.  "Virgins like you."

"Oh."  Lydia's rear dropped, along with her enthusiasm. She didn't want to know, she didn't want to be compared. "I don't like this."

Beetlejuice immediately stopped rubbing.  His voice was serious, but molten, as he whispered in her ear.  "Babes, _listen to me_. I've fucked more than I can count. An' almost always fucked them from behind. Ya know why?"

Lydia, unsure if she wanted to hear more about this, but aroused by his body on top of her, his hands cupping her breasts in her lace bra, shook her head.

His pointed nose inhaled her sweaty hair while his thumbs rubbed her nipples through the lace. "Because I didn't really want t' know what they looked like. I just wanted t' fuck. Didn't care about names or faces. Never wanted t' see them again after, anyway. So I don't want t' fuck _you_ from behind. Ya know why?"

Lydia, sincerely curious, shook her head.

Beetlejuice stood up, took her by the waist, turned her to face him, then lifted her onto the towel-covered gym mats. Her knees, which were together, were level with his bulge.  His eyes had such ravenous potency her heart pounded.

"Because _no woman_ has driven me _insane_ like **you** do, even fully clothed an' just standing there, breathin', goddammit."

Reassured, Lydia gulped, taken aback by his intensity.

The ghost leaned forward, his face so close to hers she breathed in his cold exhales and shivered.  His smile uncoiled seductively.  "I want t' see yer face while we _fuck_. I want t' see yer pussy _stretched_ around my _cock_ , an' yer gorgeous tits _bouncin'._   I want t' see _all_ of you. An' I want ya t' look at all of _me_. Especially when I fill ya with my _hot jizz_ _._   Ya understand?"

Lydia enthusiastically nodded and reached for his neck, to kiss him, but he caught her by her wrists.

"No no no."  Beetlejuice licked her right wist, then ran his tongue tip along the sensitive skin of her other.  The tickle made her tremble.  "I told ya, you can only _receive_ stimuli. If ya can't restrain yerself, ya need t' _be_ restrained."  He glanced up at her, waiting to see if she understood his guidelines.

Realizing that he was referring to her earlier suggestion, Lydia pursed her lips in challenge.  She pulled her arms free of his light grasp and ran her fingers into his hair, pulling it upward into spikes like a disobedient child.

"Very well, Miss Deetz!"

Beetlejuice grabbed her shirt and pulled it down and off, sending her cuff buttons flying in the process.  After he tossed it over his shoulder he snapped his fingers.

Lydia's school tie slithered up her left arm.  Beetlejuice held her arms above her head, her wrists together, as the tie constricted around them, holding them fast.

With his eyes the poltergeist queried the girl.  Hers answered with consent, and a shiver of delighted fright.  The cloth's grip was firm, but not tight.  She could slip out of it.  If she wanted to.

With a gesture from the poltergeist towels stacked behind the girl.  Still holding her bound wrists above her head, he leaned her back, so that she was sitting up at an angle, enough so that her view of herself, and him, was unobstructed.  She was well supported by the soft towels.  Her arms bent backward, resting on top of the pile.

"Now you're in my power." His intonation made the cliche a real threat.  Beetlejuice looked her over as if she were a banquet and he couldn't decide where to begin.  With another snap his shirt's buttons undid themselves with the speed of a zipper.  He tugged it from his pants and threw it down.  Bare-chested, Lydia saw that his bulge stood out further than his gut.

Her lack of experience gave her no gauge for comparison, but Lydia saw the dead man as sheer sexual power.  He wasn't tall. but his confidence and arrogant cockiness had always stood him head and shoulders over every man, of any height, she'd ever seen.

Beetlejuice stepped back, his legs wide, so she could get a good look.  His right hand traveled to his bulge and massaged it, his half-lidded eyes watching the girl's riveted stare.  Through a leering smile he asked, "Ya takin' me all in, beautiful?  Cuz yer _gonna_ be takin' me _all in_ , _real_ soon."

He grabbed her closed knees, pulled her thighs apart, and pushed himself between them.

Lydia was on the brink of hyperventilating.  "You're so much bigger than me."

"An' that's th' way I _like it_.  An' th' way _you_ like it, _isn't it_ , babes?"  His hands held her face as he dove in for a kiss.  Lydia rose to meet him, and their tongues immediately met.  He caressed her hair madly, luxuriating in its softness.  Her bound hands dropped forward, encasing his neck and holding him as close as possible.  They hadn't kissed since their first time.

"Tut tut tut, bad girl!"  Beetlejuice took her wrists and straightened her arms behind her, leaning her back again.  " _I_ touch.  _You_ react."

Leaning back, he admired her.  "God bless the fucker who invented the front-closure bra."  With a claw he unsnapped the closure. Lydia's hard breathing forced the bra open.

"Fuck, I've waited _so long_ for this."  With that same claw the poltergeist sliced her bra's straps and pulled the garment from her.  Heaving breaths, Beetlejuice's hands caressed the girl's breasts, molding them gently, his thumbs rubbing her stiffened nipples. He'd seen hundreds of breasts, possibly thousands, tiny, flat, wrinkled, dangling, enormous smothering mountains.  So why, _why_ , were Lydia's exactly right, exactly what made him harden with just a glance?  He'd given up trying to figure out why the girl pushed all his buttons, and created buttons he'd never had before.  Her breasts were more than handfuls, but not disproportionately large for her small frame, full, with natural, rounded tops a cosmetic surgeon would die to use as models.  Her dark-rose nipples and areoles were exactly centered.

The ghost planted his mouth first on her right breast, his tongue circling, his lips sucking, then on her left.  With a wet smack he pulled away to mutter, "Fabulous, _fantastic tits_.  I've had wet dreams about yer perfect tits since that day by th' window.  You are so lucky I'm a patient man, or I would've fucked ya right then an' there."

Lydia had feared her breasts would be a disappointment to a man who'd seen so many.  But the way he reacted convinced her his every word was true.  She arched, first watching his mouth work on her, then her eyes closed from the overwhelming sensations. She didn't understand it, but being laid out before him, ordered to not give but to receive, released her to ride the waves of sensations he was administrating.  She didn't have to think about how she should touch him, where she should touch him, whether she was doing it right.  Now she knew what he had experienced when she'd ordered him to just react.  Her analytical mind shut down and she simply _felt_.  It was magnificent and overwhelming.

"It's...too good," she cried.

"Ooh, this is _nothing_ , babes.  I haven't even _started_."

Beetlejuice pushed aside her school skirt, but didn't remove it.  He covered her stomach with his saliva, his tongue-tip tickling her bellybutton. His teeth nibbled her waist.  Ticklish, she twisted and yipped.

Lydia's eyes popped open when she felt him flip her skirt back over her belly and dig his rough thumbs under the waistband of her panties.

"Now yer gonna get yer tongue-lashin'."  The poltergeist stared up at her with darkening eyes, his smile disturbing.  "I've seen it an' smelt it, but now I'm gonna eat it."

"Oh, god!"

Her panties were literally ripped from her by his claws, making the girl's legs react instinctively in protective fright.  Beetlejuice firmly caught her thighs and held them apart.  He looked down at her and shook.

"Aaaw, fuck, look at that gateway t' paradise."  Beetlejuice's voice faltered.  Of all the vaginas he'd seen, none made his hair stand on end like this, none made his scalp tingle and cock pulse into an ever harder state like his Lyds,.  "All that sweet, sweet cunt honey, drippin' down from that perfect rosy slit, beggin' me."  His bulge pushed forward, rubbing against her outer lips.

The cold, rough metal of his straining zipper was mildly abrasive against her swollen labia.  Lydia breath hitched as her vaginal walls clenched.  She moaned.

"An' here comes some more, seeping all down yer ass."  Beetlejuice's face dove into her crotch, his teeth carefully nipping at her.

"Ya got a mound, beautiful. Not one of those flat, hairless cunts, ya got a full," he grabbed it with his right hand, squeezing her hair-covered crotch, "gorgeous, fur-covered _mound_."

Lydia stammered, watching him rub his nose in her pubic hair like a pig snuffling truffles.

He lifted himself, panting. His hands tilted her hips upward.  His thumbs exposed her hard clitoris.

Beetlejuice's voice was hoarse and feral. "Lookit yer sweet rosebud."  Slowly, he clasped it between his right  thumb and forefinger.

"Oh my god, it's...aw god."  Lydia bucked.

He smirked at her.  "Oooo.  Yer, what, an inch?"  He stroked down.

"Ah!" Lydia twisted.

"Nooo, maybe _two_. Your own little girl cockhead. Holy shit, best clit I've ever seen."  Teasingly, he said, "This is how ya jerk off, isn't it?  Yeah, I've seen ya do it dozens of times.  Like _this_."  He moved the clit's hood skin up, then down, squeezing.  "Yeah?"  He repeated the movement.

"It's too sensitive!"  Writhing, Lydia had to remember to gasp for breath.

"Oh?  Too sensitive for _this_ , babes?"  Beetlejuice bent down, closed his lips around her clit, and sucked.

"AH!" Shocked through her system, Lydia's bound hands automatically snapped down and she grabbed his hair, clutching it with blind, passionate ferocity.

"Ah ah ah!"  He pulled her arms behind her.  "Ya can feel an' watch, but don't touch!" With a wicked chuckle, he added, "You made me suffer, our first time, so it's _your_ turn."  He returned his lips to her clit. They expertly gripped its hood, moving it up and down as if it were a mini cock shaft.  On the downward stroke, his tongue-tip licked the tiny, exposed head.

Lydia's hands grabbed the towels behind her head as her hips kicked upward. No masturbation, even with the ghost, matched this. "OH god!!"

"Yer drippin'."  Beetlejuice stood up, his lips and chin shiny with Lydia's wetness. "Yer droolin' for it."  Snorting repeatedly, he grabbed the button at the top of his fly.  "It's time, babes."

The moment the button was freed the pressure of his bulge made the zipper open.  With no underwear beneath, his cock burst from its confinement and stood at full length and rigidity. As if spotting Lydia's tender folds just inches away, it twitched.  Precum slithered from its tiny mouth.

His mouth drooling as well, the ghost kicked off his boots, his trousers following quickly, until he stood naked between her thighs.

Their play allowed Lydia to voice her fear as she stared at his formidable cock.  "You're huge, you're a monster, you can't fit."

"Gimme yer lube, delicious."  A touch of his fingertip to her clit brought a stroking sensation, gentler but as effective as the ministrations from his lips.  Lydia grabbed a breath as he took away his hand, grinning evilly.  Provoked by the magic stokes, Lydia trembled, and more slick wetness flowed from her, warm and eager.

"Thaaat's my babes."  The poltergeist's fingers gathered the juices and combined them with his precum over the massive head and shaft. "Get my monster all lubed." His thumbs spread her labia, revealing the darker rosy entrance.

The sight of his cockhead an inch from this gorgeous, pinky slit, emitting the scent of want and readiness, drew a rumble from his throat.  "I have been dreaming of this _fer months_ , Lyds.  Ya have _no_ idea.  Ya want this monster?"

"Y-yes," Lydia whispered, terrified, but equally impatient for the act she'd fantasied about every day.

Positioning her at a slightly higher angle on the pile of towels, Beetlejuice placed the girl's legs over his shoulders.  He rasped,"Watch, babes.  Watch me give ya yer first taste of _my cock_."

His right hand gripped its shaft while his left thumb and forefinger held her labia apart.  Looking down past her palpitating breasts and stomach, Lydia had a clear view as the ghost directed his hot and ruddy cockhead against her opening and pushed.

"Ah!  AH!" Nothing bigger than a tampon had ever entered the girl, and then not very deeply.  Even with her lubrication, the head's size found resistance as her vaginal walls clamped down defensively. The next second the head ignited a deep, instinctive need, as the ache that had crazed her for half a year finally felt the friction it craved.  Lydia gave out a sharp, animal cry of ecstasy.

Beetlejuice fought to keep from losing all control.  He grabbed Lydia's thighs, set his feet and his jaw, and pushed forward.  The broad and glowing head of his thick cock stretched the girl's wet and outrageously warm lips until a full inch was engulfed.

Maddened, the poltergeist reached up, shoved the pile of towels off the mats, and, the end of his cock firmly stuck in Lydia, he crawled up on the mats so he was mounted above her.  He took her legs from his shoulders and spread them wide apart so his gut had all the room it needed.

His voice was guttural, fevered, as his big hands secured her hips.  "This is what ya fantasized about, isn't it?  Me shovin' yer legs apart, crawling on top of ya."  Another inch worked its way in.

"Yes! AH!" Lydia's legs struggled a little from shock of the stiff entry, but it hit her ache _so good_.  Panting rapidly, she begged, "Oh god, I ache all the way inside, don't stop!"

"It's lunch time, babes.  Take it all, my huge, fat, drippin' kielbasa." The poltergeist gasped like a dog trying to jump on a bitch in heat.  With each word he jerked his throbbing cock further. "Swallow me whole, baby.  _Every. Inch. Inside. Ya_."

"Ah, you're too thick!"  Lydia lay at full length, her back straining.  "But I want it!  I want it!"

"Aw _fuck, I'm in ya at last!_ " Beetlejuice screamed.  " _Yer so fuckin' **tight**!"_

Lydia's passion was at fever-height.  The man's efforts to lodge his huge cock within the moist lips of her little slit, so far from deterring her, spurred her to frantic, bucking movements, trying to assist him as well as she could.

"Ooooh, fuuuck, I have had some cunts, a hundred, a thousand," the poltergeist loomed forward over her, his hands holding her thighs well apart, his tongue snaking out and trailing drool on her heaving breasts, "but you, Lydia Deetz, are the goddamn sweetest cunt of them all."  He jerked his hips and his cock muscled in another inch.  The girl gazed through her lashes at him, incoherent with desire.  "Yeah, lookit me like that, ya maddening, delicious, goddamn beautiful girl, ya know whut ya do t' me.  Ya feel it, _huh?_ "  Another thrust, and Lydia cried out. "Feel how _fat_ ya make my _cock?_ "

"AH!"  Lydia had braced herself for some pain, but there wasn't a bit of it.  Her pussy, far from trying to keep him out,  stretched about his huge protuberance, yielding more lubrication in reply to his movements as it compressed so tightly around him she could feel every swollen vein and the ridge of its head.  She hadn't expected how insanely good his width would be.  "Give me more, oh god, Beej, _please_!"

Beetlejuice was stunned.  He'd had virgins Lydia's age, and, yes, younger.  Though they'd always been willing, all of them were dry compared to Lyds.  With the others he'd had to resort to commercially made lube, or oil, or suntan lotion, or copious amounts of his own spit and precum.  Their vaginas argued against his intrusion, and he'd had to settle for short stroking.  At the end, he'd brought them all to reluctant orgasms, and, naturally, shot his wad with some satisfaction, if only due to the thrill of deflowering innocents.  But, to him, sex with an unenthusiastic girl whose body didn't know how to participate was only a step above jerking off.  This girl, his Lyds, was the absolute opposite.

"Yer sucking me in, jeezus, yer pussy muscles are clampin' on me, pullin' me in, holy fuck, _yer compression_."  Groaning, he shifted his hips back and forth by half inches, raising himself to watch his reddened shaft sink further.  "Ah shit, _ah shiiit_ , yer better than I ever hoped."

Beetlejuice pushed frantically forward, plunging further and further with each effort.  Holding the girl's slim hips in position, with one huge, ramming stroke he buried the remaining thick inches to the balls.

"OH! OH MY GOD!" Lydia was overwhelmed by the fullness and inner pressure against her intense ache.  At last, all the spots that had cried out for months to be touched were contacted. With one more sharp jerk, the poltergeist's cockhead hit that spot deep inside, on top of her vaginal wall, that had burned the most, but which she had never reached.  A high pitched cry shot from her, and would have been heard by the entire school, if the ghost hadn't guarded against it.

Beetlejuice started as her cunt gripped him, vice-like.  He growled, his tongue slowly spiraling above her, " _There's_ yer sweet spot."

Lyds whined and whimpered.

Beetlejuice shuddered.  He hissed, "You have th' most perfect pussy in this life and after, an' I would know. _Perfect fuckin' pussy._ Hot an' wet an' _suckin_ ' my monster. Yer so tight I can barely move."  He lapped her breasts as they shook from her hard breathing, gazing with flaming eyes at her flushed face and swollen lips.  With the voice of a demon, low, rough, throaty, with a ravening, lecherous immorality that would not be denied, he said, "I'm gonna fuck ya so goddamn hard, little girl."

"Fuck me, you monster," Lydia gasped.

Immediately Beetlejuice tried to withdraw enough to stroke, but the girl was, as he'd said, so secure around him, even with the coating of slickness,  he could only manage some movement in place.

"Mmmm, gonna ride ya for some more juice, babes," he grunted as his hips rocked, the movement following down his shaft enough to shift its head back and forth a millimeter. His breath was short and quick from his nostrils. "Mmm, get ya a little loosened up so I can fuck ya properly.  Rub yer little G spot, yer Lyds spot. Uh, uh, mmm, ngh, yeah, ridin' my pretty little pony's _cunt_...”

The girl could no longer produce words. The magical manipulation of her clit was a steady current. His cockhead twitched against the hypersensitive area, and her vagina responded, the muscles loosening just enough in anticipation of the friction it begged for.

Feeling her loosen ever so slightly, Beetlejuice sat up, clutching her thighs, and pumped, slowly. "Yeah, uuh yeah, _that's_ whut I want, fuck yessss."

Lydia cried, "God, _please_ , fuck me hard, _harder_!"

Beetlejuice humped, her legs over his stiff arms, so he can see his glistening cock stroke in and out of her swollen, dark rose cunt lips.  "Uuh god, uuh fucking GOD."  His sweaty hair fell in his face as he pounded, treating Lydia to his hard shaft up to the crisp blond hair covering his big balls, which smacked her buttocks, with every forward thrust.

It felt like a living piston of steel, rubbing, pressing, distending with every jerking blow, making a wet, slapping sound as his cock's thickness churned inside her.  Lydia had once wondered whether, even with his magical powers, the dead man of thirty-seven would have much sexual stamina.  Her low moans and sobs asserted that he had more than enough.

"Better than yer fantasy?"Beetlejuice panted.  He had already far surpassed his own.

Lydia emitted sounds and half words, choked in the depth of her feelings, as his hammering shook her back and forth on the towels. "God yes, oh my poltergeist is fucking me so damn hard, he's haunting my pussy SO HARD!"

"Babes, babes, beautiful, yer better than any jerkoff fantasy I ever had,  yer better than any _fuck_ I've _ever_ had."

With Lydia huffing at the point of hyperventilating,  and nearing his own crisis, Beetlejuice clasped her buttocks, simultaneously lifting them an inch and lowering his hips so his cock stabbed at a more upward angle, aiming for her sweet spot.

Lydia's eyes bulged as the explosion hit, and she screamed. " AAA!  BEEJ!"  Her vagina spasmed and squeezed with such strength the ghost had to stop thrusting. "OH MY GOD!"  Another crunching convulsion, then another.  Lights danced inside her eyelids and her bound hands flew forward, grabbing his sweaty hair.  She cried out incoherently.

After a minute her contractions weakened enough for him to move.  Beetlejuice pumped like a man insane, frothing Lydia's cum around his cock with loud squelching, threatening to loosen the gym mats and send them both tumbling to the floor.

"I'm fuckin' ya, I'm finally fuckin' my Lyds' perfect cunt, you are mine, babes, _yer cunt is all mine_!  LYDS, FUCK YES LYDS!"

He drove in to the hilt, felt his balls spank her ass, and loosed an unnatural snarl as his own explosion blasted from his battered balls through his cock so rigid it curved upward like a satyr's.  He fell on the panting young girl, swearing, digging his fingers into her hair damp with his drool, kicking his hips as his cock shook and shot while her pussy continued to clasp and unclasp it.

The room filled with their gasps as they lay, motionless, lost to all awareness of anything except the overwhelming waves they drowned in.

As his breathing slowed, Beetlejuice gained enough consciousness to worry that he'd smothered the girl.  He lifted his head and rose onto his elbows. Lydia, face flushed, bangs plastered to her wet forehead, managed to gaze from under her lashes and form a small, exhausted smile.  She moved her wrists back and forth just a bit, and the tie fell away.  Freed, she weakly slid her arms under his and around his torso, holding him fast.

For several minutes they stayed like this, Beetlejuice trying to catch his breath as he kissed her face.

"You alive?" he whispered, smirking.

"No," she gasped. "You fucked me to death.  And I loved it. You?"

"Babes, ya brought me back t' life an' killed me again."  A little concerned as he felt his gut against her flat stomach, he asked, quietly, "Seriously, did I crush ya?"

"In a good way.  I told you my fantasy was to have you on top.  I _want_ to feel your belly and all your weight."

"Be careful whut ya wish for, little girl."

"I'm so glad it _came_ true."

"Nngh, I'm too weak fer puns."  The poltergeist collapsed on her again, his mouth against her cheek.  His cock twitched inside her.  "I swear t' god I'm still cummin'."

Lydia giggled, feeling the aftershocks in her vagina.  "Me, too."

From the hallway a familiar voice called, "Have you seen them?"

The couple, locked together, froze.

"Principal Scarabee and Lydia Deetz!" called Miss Shannon to someone.  "Have you seen them?  No?"

" _Shit_ ," said Beetlejuice.

"Oh god!  How long has it been?"  Lydia turned her head, looking for a clock.  There was none in this room.

"Shit, shit, shit."  Beetlejuice struggled to raise himself on his arms.  "I didn't plan this far."  Reluctantly, with difficulty, he pulled his cock from his girl.  Along with it came a flood of his cum, which ran down Lydia's rear and puddled on her skirt and the towel.

Lydia sighed as he lifted off her.  "I don't have any strength."  Glancing around at their strewn clothes and her torn underwear, she laughed grimly.  "What are we going to do?"

"Yer askin' me t' think?  Beautiful, ya burned out my brain."

More voices went by in the hall, adult voices.  Teachers' voices.

Panic cut through Lydia's exhaustion.  She sat up.  "They're going to think you took me off school grounds.  They'll find Mrs. Tibbs drunk, if she still is, and call the police!"

"Okay, okay, give me a sec."  Beetlejuice shook his head, clearing it so his con man instincts could power up.  He looked around the room.  "We mop up the mats with th' towels, then throw them in th' washin' machine."

The girl put on her shirt, jacket, tie, and shoes.  With weak knees, and with low wattage juice, the mats were soon spotless and returned to their original locations.  Lydia threw the towels into the washer with an overdose of soap, since the ghost hadn't the slightest clue how laundry worked.

"Can you repair these?"  Lydia held her torn bra and panties.  "And I have cum all over my skirt."  Her smile glowed.  "And running down my legs into my socks."

A few useless sparks sputtered from the ghost's fingers.  Her underwear remained shredded, and her lower region coated with their combined emanations.

"Jeezus crap, babes, ya wore me out so much I can't get it up!"

"I'm quite alarmed," they heard Miss Shannon say.

"This is unacceptable!" said Miss Blithe.

"Shit shit _shit_.  Think, 'Juice."  He snapped his fingers.  "There's a restroom right across th' hall.  Go in there, wash with whatever that stinky soap is I can smell that's in there."

Lydia beamed.  "Orange Blossom Hibiscus!  It reeks!"

He grinned conspiratorially.  "Yer gonna have an attack of cramps.  _Big time._   Just wait in th' restroom an' follow my lead."

Though they heard loud conversations, the short hall leading from the gym to the main hall was clear.  Lydia dashed from the equipment room to the restroom.  Classes must have been in session; she was alone. Quickly, she turned hot water on in a sink and lathered up the oppressively scented soap.  After washing as much as herself as possible, she splashed soapy water on her skirt and socks, hoping that would be enough to mask the scent. Wadding up toilet paper, she shoved it in her tender vaginal opening, hoping to dam any remaining cum.

Lydia was determined to keep her torn panties and bra as mementos, so she rapidly washed them in the suds, wrung them out, wrapped them in paper towels, and jammed them into her jacket pockets, one on each side.

Meanwhile, Beetlejuice, in the equipment room, took several deep breaths to gather strength.  He snapped his fingers.  Luckily, his power had returned, and he was Principal Scarabee again.

Quickly, he returned the equipment room to as close to how it had been when they'd entered. People would wonder who had put towels in the washer, and why, but that wasn't his concern.

As a ghost, he easily stuck his head through the closed door. The urgent voices of adults were approaching. He sped to the restroom door, cleared his throat, and called, loudly, “Oh, Miss Deetz, are you quite all right in there?”

Lydia hurried to the door and listened, waiting for her cue.

“Principal Scarabee!” Miss Shannon came into sight, followed by Miss Blithe and two teachers Beetlejuice had never seen. “Where have you been?!”

“Miss Shannon!” Scarabee placed his right hand on his chest. “Miss Deetz is an amiable and knowledgeable hostess! We were ascending the lovely marble stairs to the second floor when she was, um, overcome.”

“Sir?”

He waved his hand to indicate the restroom door. “I don't want to be indelicate, but, as Miss Brewery--”

“Brewster,” Miss Blithe snapped.

“Yes, her, the other girl, she had ungraciously alluded to Miss Deetz suffering from a monthly circumstance.”

“OOoh.” Lydia's groan reverberated in the tiled room.

“You see? So I politely suggested perhaps Miss Deetz needed a visit to the facilities to quell her discomfort. Of course, I can't enter to see how she fares.”

Miss Blithe headed for the restroom, but Miss Shannon cut her off and pushed open the door.

Lydia was leaning against the wall, holding folded, damp paper towels to her forehead and a hand on her pelvis. Her jacket was buttoned to hide that she was bra-less, and both her jacket pockets were stuffed with paper towels, so her underwear was well concealed.

“Miss Deetz!”

“I'm so, _so_ sorry, Miss Shannon.” Lydia's voice shook. “Usually I bring Midol from home, but it started early this month.” Her vagina was sore from Beetlejuice's massive pounding, so she used that as inspiration.  Grimacing and moaning in a low volume, as if trying to keep the man outside from hearing, she whispered, "I didn't have a quarter for the tampon vending machine, and I tried to clean off all the blood, it was all over my legs and skirt and _everything_ , I didn't want Principal Scarabee to see, and..."  She sniffled forlornly.

“Young lady, you're going home.” Miss Shannon held up a forefinger to abort any plea from the girl. “I insist.” Her softened voice confided, “I remember what it was like. When I was at school we were told to be brave and given an aspirin, if we were lucky. When I became principal I was determined to be more progressively minded.”

Realizing what being sent home required, Lydia begged, “Please don't ask my parents to come get me.  I can manage!"

“You're in no state to walk. Come along, we'll go to my office to call.”

The woman herded Lydia before her as if she were a lost duckling. Lydia glanced apologetically at the teachers. Hoping no one else noticed, she threw Scarabee a look of alarm and warning. The ghost caught it and waited to assess what was happening.

Miss Shannon took a smartphone from her jacket pocket. “Miss Deetz is unwell, so I'm sending her home.”

“I'm so sorry, Principal Scarabee,” Lydia mumbled, pressing her hand to her stomach. “Miss Shannon, I really don't want to trouble my parents _to come get me_.”

“ _I_ can take her home,” said Scarabee.

Miss Blithe harrumphed. “A stranger taking a student instead of a parent or guardian? Do you allow such things at _your_ school, sir?”

“I am _not_ a stranger.” Scarabee indicated the other principal's phone. “May I?” Before Miss Shannon could reply he took it and thumb-dialed.

Lydia wondered what on earth he was going to say to her parents.

The phone clicked. “Deetz residence, Charles Deetz speaking.” The volume was high enough so that everyone could hear. His tone sounded frightened. “This is Miss Shannon's?” Of course, he had Caller ID. “Is something wrong with Lydia?”

“Charles Deetz! This is Jus Scarabee!  You know, principal of Elisabeth Irwin, Lydia's old school!”

There was a pause. “What? I don't--”

“I hope you're well! How is Delia? I still have her _Light and Air Number Three_ in my entry way.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't place...”

“ _You_ remember, we talked at the Forbes campaign funding dinner for you-know-who? The one where Boisson over-indulged in the Siberian Osetra Aurora caviar?”

“Oh. That's sounds familiar.”

“And again on LeFrak's yacht, when Bitsy landed that marlin, but it wasn't dead, so she tried to brain it with a bottle of Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru 1949?”

“Why, _yes_ , I remember!”

Lydia was so impressed she wanted to jump on Beetlejuice and fuck him again, right there. Of course her father remembered; those incidents had really happened. Lydia overheard her parents and their guests talk about them, and many others, during their dinner parties. She'd related them to the ghost, and they'd both laughed at the stupidity of the extravagantly rich. Now, he was using his con man brilliance on her father. The poltergeist had told her that people will agree to something they're unsure of rather than question it and risk the embarrassment of being proven wrong.

“Well, Charles, I'm on a tour of high schools in Peaceful Pines, and as it happens I've met your daughter, Lydia!”

“Oh, good! How is she?”

Scarabee's voice saddened as the adults watched him. “Not well, I'm afraid. Nothing alarming, I assure you! Miss Shannon can explain.” He held the phone out for the woman.

The principal told him the situation. “Principal Scarabee has volunteered to bring Lydia home, and, while I'm amenable to that, I want to get your permission.”

“Of course! Jus Scarabee is a friend and colleague!”

Lydia suppressed her smile at yet another conniving tactic. If her father doubted this Scarabee at all, he would never question Miss Shannon's opinion that he was safe enough to have the temporary charge of his beloved Pumpkin.

With details agreed to, Scarabee guided Lydia out the front door, followed by the other adults. From the corner of her eye Lydia saw the second floor windows full of goggling students.

“Oh, Miss Shannon,” Lydia looked over her shoulder and asked, feigning weakness, “is Miss Brewster all right?”

“She was merely scratched, not bitten.” The principal added under her breath, “Thank goodness.” Louder, she said, “Her parents aren't home, so we're keeping her here until they retrieve her.”

“I'm glad she's all right.” Lydia gloated, knowing Claire's parents would be furious for having been dragged away from whatever they were doing.

"The tarantula, however, has yet to be recovered."  Miss Shannon shivered.

"That's a _pity_ ," said Scarabee, thinking how he'd have to see whether the Peaceful Pines Pet Emporium sold them.  The fucker had been delicious. He saw Ginger in a new light, and considered taunting her by saying he'd had dinner with one of her relatives.

It was then that he and Lydia saw the burned out husk of a bus in the school's circular driveway, cordoned off by yellow CAUTION tape and surrounded by pools of water.

“My goodness!” said Scarabee.

“It just, suddenly, exploded.” Miss Shannon threw up her hands in a helpless gesture. “Thankfully, no one was near it when it happened. But it's the school's only bus.”

“I'm sure Miss Brewster's father would be happy to buy a replacement,” said Scarabee, very pleased with himself.  He lifted an eyebrow at Lydia.

Lydia covered what she pretended to be a yawn, when it was a grin at the evidence of her lover's version of a flexed bicep.

“I'm astonished that you didn't know about this, Principal.” Miss Blithe's tone was suspicious and accusatory. “The explosion was heard _throughout_ Peaceful Pines.”

“I heard something, but,” having made his disguise taller than Miss Blithe, Scarabee was able to look down on the woman as he replied, snidely, “I was _more_ concerned with a young student in a state of distress. Which would be your priority, Miss Bitter, some loud bang somewhere, or a kind, helpful girl, right there, before you, in extreme discomfort?”

“Miss _Blithe_ ,” the teacher said, with a snap of her jaws.

" _I_ _s_ it? I do beg your pardon, your name keeps _escaping_ me.”

Lydia lowered her head so her hair screened her devilish smile.

Scarabee clicked a device in his palm. The headlights of a sleek, black sedan in the small parking lot flickered and the doors unlocked. He held the passenger door open while the girl tenderly slid in, then slipped behind the steering wheel. With a wave, he set off down the gravel driveway.

“Maintain your role and do nothing unseemly, Miss Deetz,” he said, sitting up straight and tall, and keeping his hands on the wheel. “This car will be noticed by every busybody in the village, and so will we.”

“Oh my god, Miss Blithe is now officially your nemesis,” Lydia giggled.

Scarabee grinned vindictively. “You think so? Goood. 'Principal Scarabee' may have to make a return visit just to, as the saying goes, blow wind up her ass.”

“You better not. You _know_ she's making phone calls right now to find out who you are. When she _does_ find out there's no such person --”

“Babes.” It was weird, hearing her pet name spoken in that cultured, Boston Brahmin accent. “Do you think The Ghost With The Most, Con Artist Extraordinaire, would be that sloppy?”

“Sooo, you took someone's identity? _Jus Scarabee?_ You know I've heard Jacques say that. French for 'juice' and 'beetle.' Nobody is _really_ named _that._ ”

“Baby, _baby,_ of course not. So I made him.” The disguised poltergeist inhaled proudly as he smoothly turned the corner. “Computer hacking school and public records is so easy when you're hot, dead, and _me_.”

Lydia put her hand on his right thigh while looking straight ahead, so it appeared, to anyone they passed, that all was perfectly innocent. “Speaking of cars, where'd you get this one?”

He chuckled. “Have you ever heard Clairey Poo say how many cars her Daddy owns?”

“Only a couple hundred times in the last five years. You stole one? _How?_ Don't they have servants who are there all day, a maid --”

“That's what the pretentious assholes want people to believe. They've got a cleaning service, the same one your parents use. Claire's dad's away a lot, her mom's off with her country club cohorts, shopping or drinking or whatever, so the house is empty. And,” he turned his head only far enough to wink at her, “just happens that their security cameras broke down the same day as Miss Shannon's. And I juiced the license plate, just in case.”

Lydia was not only incredibly impressed, but moved. She knew very well that the poltergeist didn't put himself out for anything or anyone, unless it meant  _ a lot  _ to him. “You did all this, just to be with me?”

Beetlejuice spoke in his normal voice, “ _ Fuckin' worth it _ .” His gargantuan ego allowed its one insecurity as he glanced at the girl. “You, too?”

She squeezed his thigh. “If Father and Mother weren't expecting us, I'd say drive to the woods and fuck me in the back seat.”

He snorted with relief and pride, and resumed his false voice. “Some day, Miss Deetz. Maybe even in this car. Better move your hand, before I'm rock-hard again.”

Charles and Delia were on the porch as the black sedan pulled up their long, pressed-gravel driveway. They watched anxiously as an impressively dressed, tall man emerged from the car, waved, and opened the passenger door. Lydia slowly slid out, her hand on her stomach. She greeted her parents with a wan, sad grimace.

“Pumpkin!” Charles stumbled down the steps and hugged Lydia, who made a grunt of discomfort. Her father looked up at the pinstriped man, his eyes narrowing and searching as if scanning a database for recognition. “And...you're...”

“Charles!” Principal Scarabee offered his hand, his gold pinkie ring glittering in the sunshine. As Charles shook it, weakly, Scarabee focused his gleaming, white smile at the woman. “And Delia! Delia the _Artiste!_ ”

Lydia masked her laugh with a cough. If he wanted to secure her step-mother's trust, that alone would do it.

“Jus!” Delia hopped down the steps and took his hand. “Oh, I _am_ pronouncing it correctly, aren't I?”

“ _Absolument!_ ” Scarabee kissed her hand. Lydia made a sincere gagging noise. “And here's your wonderful little girl. Well, not so little, are you, sweetheart? Goodness, Charles, I recall the photo of her you showed me at Leon Charney's little supper that time. She was then about twelve, wasn't she?”

Lydia's father had no memory of something that never happened, but Charles did have what some considered the aggravating habit of showing his only child's photo to anyone and everyone when he'd had more than two glasses of wine. “Why, yes! Yes! I do need to update my wallet photo.”

“Ooh, Ly-dee-ah!” Delia cooed, as if her step-daughter were still twelve. “Would you like some camomile tea and lemon biscuits for your upset tum-tum?”

Lydia heard Scarbee snort-laugh, but didn't stomp on his foot, because her parents were watching. “I think a Midol would be more effective, Mother.”

“OH. It's _that_. _Right_.” She gripped the girl around the shoulders and hurried her inside.

“Brandy, Principal Scarabee?” said Charles.

Beetlejuice knew if he waited too long someone at the Brewster's might notice the car was missing. But talking and drinking with the father of the girl he'd just had the best, most incredibly mind-blowing fuck of his life and death with was too deliciously wicked to miss.

Lydia threw her school clothes in the washer and took a quick shower in her bathroom, knowing Delia would smell the abundance of cum on and in her if she didn't remove it immediately. She laughed with delight as she raised her face into the warm stream of water, thinking of her lover – _oh,_ what a lover!! – in the living room with her parents right now, sipping expensive brandy – naturally, Father had brought out the most impressive bottle he had --- and they didn't suspect a thing. Her vagina was a tender, but even still, as she washed it tingled, eager for more 'Juice.

“You wait,” Lydia whispered. “God, if we do it again too soon he'll break me!”

While she dressed in her room she heard their light laughter. She stuffed her torn underwear into her bureau's bottom drawer, the one that locked, and secured them from Delia's nosiness.

“There she is!” said Charles as Lydia quietly entered the room. “Any better, pumpkin?”

Lydia smiled weakly and shrugged. In her sweetest voice, with meaning more than a student's gratitude for having been driven home, she said, “Thank you, Principal Scarabee.”

Beetlejuice noticed she was wearing a black, knee-length t-shirt. With no tights. And no bra. He tried not to stare as she moved with the sensuousness of a black cat, sat on the couch across from the chair he was in, and curled up her legs so that the t-shirt rose and revealed some of her thighs. She leaned back teasingly and idly fluffed her glossy, blue-black hair.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, sincerely. The twitch in his cock reported that he was in a danger zone. He set down his drink.

“Well! I'd best get this rental back to Hartford and catch my plane to New York.”

“Can't you stay for dinner?” Delia implored. “We get so few people here we can really talk to, _real_ New Yorkers.”

“Seriously, I can't.”

“I'm sorry, Jus, but....” Charles had been examining the man's face since he'd first stepped from the car.

Lydia and Beetlejucie both heard the suspicion undercurrent in his tone, and stiffened.

“Have to say,” Charles squinted, “you look _awfully_ familiar. Not _you_ , but, you look _like_ someone else. Someone,” his memory shuffled through its files of faces, “someone I see around _here,_ a _lot_...”

_ Oh  _ _**no** _ , thought Lydia, tensing.  _ Is he thinking of –- _

“A 'Mr. Beetleman,' by any chance?” said Principal Scarabee, disdainfully.

All three of the Deetzes stared at him in astonishment.

“I knew it!” Charles slapped the arm of his chair. “I knew you looked like someone!”

“You?” Delia's wide mouth twisted in an expression of confusion and horror. “You, a man of such culture and breeding, are you _related_ _to_...?” She knew better than to express her true opinion of the man she was thinking of.

Lydia pressed her lips together to quash her smile, but her eyes registered her admiration of his quick-witted cleverness.

Principal Scarabee snorted, then touched his nostrils with his embroidered handkerchief. “My fraternal twin brother.”

The girl concealed her giggle by clearing her throat.

“Brother?” said Charles.

“Fraternal?” said Delia.

“As in nearly identical twins, but not quite.” The ghost stuffed his handkerchief back in his breast pocket. “Certainly not twins in sensibility and taste.” He emitted a heavy, dreary sigh. “I confess, he's the reason I'm in Peaceful Pines. Mother wanted me to check up on him.”

Delia and Charles waited, utterly gobsmacked.

Scarabee related, spontaneously inventing in a voice thick with aversion to the subject he was describing, “His childhood was rambunctious, his teen years dissolute.” Lydia could tell Beetlejuice was relishing the spider-web fiction he was weaving. “ After university--”

“University?” said Delia and Charles.

“Well, of course, he wouldn't have mentioned it. He has nothing but contempt for his time at Julliard--”

“ _Julliard?_ ”

“ – and his doctorate from Harvard's Business School--”

Lydia's parents could only silently repeat his words. Lydia raised an eyebrow at her lover.

“ – and all his innumerable travels abroad,” finished Scarabee, icing the elaborate, overly-tiered cake with a glimmer in his eye toward his girl. “B.J – or, as he fancies himself, ' _Beeeeej_ ' --”

The sound made Charles and Delia wince as if someone had closed a rusty gate.

“\-- eschewed all responsibility to the family and ran off to be a,” here the fake principal formed air quotes, something Lydia would later tell him seemed out of character, “ 'free man.'” He looked down at his handkerchief and idly repositioned it. “I think his theses on Thoreau pushed him over the brink.”

 _You blowhard, you didn't even know who Thoreau was until I told you_ , Lydia thought at him, smirking and crossing her arms.

"But, but,” Delia sputtered, “he lives like a, well, _a handy man_. Did your family cut him off?”

“If only. No, he has an obscenely gargantuan trust that he can access only through Mother's good favor.  He manages to survive on a paltry allowance of twenty thousand a month.”  _Bet you'll treat me a lot different th' next time Beetleman comes fer a visit. Ya might even try getting him t' date yer daughter._

From the corner of her eye Lydia watched her parents' jaws drop. She shot the poltergeist a glare as she said, “Goodness, it sounds like a Jane Austen novel, which _someone_ might have read about in someone's English Lit final paper.”

“Well. This explains a lot,” said Charles, as he and Delia exchanged expressions of relief. “We thought he was just some weirdo.”

“Oh, he is. A harmless, very rich weirdo who wants to do things with his hands with the Common Folk. He's off on his travels right now, probably the Bahamas, _again_. ” The principal looked at his watch. “I really must be going.”

At the car, the man shook Charles' hand, kissed Delia's, and lightly shook Lydia's. “It was a delight in all ways, Miss Deetz. We really must _do it_ again, _soon_.”

“I'd like that, sir. After,” she placed her hand on her stomach, but her forefinger pointed south, “I've had time to recover.”  She mouthed, _I'll call, sexy._

He winked and grinned, hugely.

Beetlejuice drove off in haste. Once inside, Lydia glanced at the wall clock. He'd have enough time to return the car before kids got out of school, when he'd be more at risk of being spotted.

In her room, Lydia fell on her back on her bed, held Percy above her, and laughed as she recalled the wonderful day.

Until one not-so-small detail came to mind.  She snapped upright, panicking.

“His briefcase! _We left his briefcase in the equipment room!_ ” She yelled as loud as she dared, “BEETLEJUICE!”

* * *

God bless the school's terror of embarrassment, was all Mrs. Tibbs could think. She'd escaped with only a fierce warning from the principal about “vigilance” and to keep her nose, “and breath!”, clean. As if she hadn't heard all that before. How on earth could she have been vigilant about a bus exploding? The firefighters and the police said they hadn't a clue what caused it. “Electrical failure,” a firefighter had speculated. That was hardly anything _she_ could have prevented.

And God bless whoever fixed the cameras just minutes before Miss Shannon stormed into the security office. Security _closet_ , more like. Tibbs had woken up from her nap after that very nice, very sexy principal with the hoity-toity accent had invited her to share in the present he'd brought for Shannon, and all the security screens showed nothing but static. Before she could pick up the phone and call the company that had sold them the system, the cameras suddenly flickered to life, as if nothing had gone wrong.

Shannon didn't know about it, and there was no reason to say anything except that Tibbs hadn't seen anyone on camera, suspiciously messing with the school bus. That was the absolute, swear-on-the Bible truth.

Making her rounds after the school had closed for the day, the woman yawned and entered the Equipment Room. She flipped on the lights, filled a cup with water from the laundry's tap, and downed three aspirins.  She noticed through its glass lid that the washer was full of towels. Somebody should put them in the dryer, so they wouldn't be a wet clump overnight, and maybe even mold. She walked away.

As Mrs. Tibbs reached for the doorknob she spotted something on the floor in front of the lacrosse sticks. It was a briefcase. From what she could tell as she picked it up and examined it, it was a very expensive briefcase. There were no initials on it, no tags, nothing to identify an owner. It had a combination lock, but, as a former law enforcement officer, Mrs. Tibbs knew how to get around those.

Either the thing had something valuable inside, or she might be able to find a buyer who'd believe there might be. God knew her current salary was an insult.

The security officer was just about to wrap the briefcase in a towel and slip out to her car when she heard an unearthly sound. Not a laugh. Not a growl. Some mutation of the two. The woman's instincts, dull as they were, knew it wasn't human or animal. They also told her whatever made it was extremely dangerous.

The briefcase grew hot in her hands. She dumbly held it out, watching the leather glow as if a nuclear reaction was building within. She threw it down and stepped back.

The lid exploded open, sending the melted lock flying across the room, until it burst into flame and vanished. Mrs. Tibbs slammed back against the door, sputtering, eyes tearing, as a horrible thing of flame and ash, like a human burning alive, rose from the smoking leather. Its eyes, frying in their sockets like eggs in a skillet, shook a charred forefinger at her in a _tut tut tut_ gesture.

With an ear-piercing shriek the demon and briefcase blew to pieces.

When the woman finally uncurled from her fetal position on the floor, the room was normal. There were no ashes, no lumps of melted metal. There wasn't even a scorch mark on the floor.

Mrs. Tibbs grabbed the silver flask from her uniform's back trouser pocket and chugged the last of the principal's brandy. She was going to leave early tonight, and, since she was the _only_ security guard, no one else would know. About _anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted four cartoons for this chapter on my Beetlejuice & Lydia tumblr. Two are explicit...but I guess if you read this explicit doesn't bother you. ;-)
> 
> The cartoons don't match exactly how I describe the scenes depicted, because when I drew them I was away from the story and I have a very bad memory.
> 
> https://rtfics.tumblr.com/post/187730607536/school-visit-illustrations


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